


Festivities

by SerpentineJ



Series: Olicolm: 25 Days of OTP [20]
Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Fluff, I'm such a shit, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:08:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2848688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentineJ/pseuds/SerpentineJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>20.	Throwing/attending a holiday party. Olicolm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Festivities

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: So I think in S04E04 Ollie was talking to someone named Joe…
> 
> Also, this is not an established relationship bit. Because I have a thing for tipsy!Ollie and Malcolm getting together at parties. ;)

**20\. Throwing/attending a holiday party.**

“You’ll come, right?” Joe is practically begging, brown eyes wide and pleading. 

Ollie huffs. “Fine. Is there anything I need to do? Beside help you score the lovely lady who’s caught your eye?”

“Nope, that’s it!” After Ollie’s consent the puppy-dog look in the other’s eyes is gone, replaced by something mischievous. 

He rolls his eyes. “Who else is going to be there? Anyone who I wouldn’t be bored talking to?”

The other pretends to think. “Well, Angela will be there, and so will Ryan and Newt…” He scratches his chin before grinning. “Malcolm too.”

“M-Malcolm?” Reeder’s eyes widen in shock. “Fucking hell, how’d you get him to agree to that?”

“Oh, Sam’s boyfriend is a friend of mine so I invited them. She dragged Malcolm along.” There’s something too wicked about the set of Joe’s mouth. Ollie tries, in vain, to stamp down on the flush he can feel rising in his cheeks. 

He scowls. “You two are too manipulative for your own good.” Joe doesn’t relent in his smirk.

~~~~~~

The party is in full swing, Christmas music blaring through the speakers and a gentle blanket of chatter warming the room. The clink of glasses draws Ollie’s attention away from Joe's shitty flirting with his chosen female (Megan? Alice?) and he sees Sam and her boyfriend chatting near the drinks table.

Sam sees him as he walks up. “Hey, Ollie.” She gestures towards the guy by her side and says, “Brendan, you've met Ollie, right? He's at DoSAC. Ollie, this is my boyfriend.”

He sighs glumly, shaking the outstretched hand out of politeness, and slumps. “You know,” he says to the man opposite him, “your girlfriend and my friend are conniving dicks.”

“Well,” Brendan says, laughing lightly, “I think I would know if my girlfriend's genitals changed.” He grins. “Is this about Malcolm?”

Ollie stares. “Wh- how do you know- SAM!”

“Sorry.” She smirks, hooking her arm through her boyfriend's. “No secrets in a healthy relationship.”

He can’t do anything but look helplessly at her.

~~~~~~

“Sam, when can I leave this fucking dump?” Malcolm scowls without preamble, walking up to their little group. Ollie instantly quiets and Brendan tries to hold in his (slightly inebriated) laughter as his eyes get wider. Sam grins.

“It’s alright, Malc, you can leave now.” She barely conceals a snicker. “In fact, Ollie said he was just leaving, you two can catch a cab together.”

Reeder’s mouth opens soundlessly as he frantically gestures for her to shut up behind Tucker’s back, hands stilling when the gray-haired man turns to glance at him.

“I… guess I can share a cab with fucking… John Lennon after liposuction.” He can see now that Malcolm is slightly smashed, an eyebrow raised and his posture looser, more relaxed than usual. 

~~~~~~

“Ah, fuck.” Ollie smacks himself on the forehead as the black cap pulls up to his flat, barely missing poking his own eye out in his alcohol-imbibed state. “I f’rgot… Our fuckin’ apartment’s bein’ fumigated.” He shakes his head and frowns, head coming up so he can look pleadingly at the cabbie. “Hey, d’you know ‘fa cheap motel in th’ area?”

Malcolm speaks up, not looking any more sober. “Fuckin’ hell.” He rolls his eyes and gives the cabbie directions to his place, the taxi pulling smoothly away from the sidewalk to merge with the flow of traffic. 

When they arrive at Malcolm’s stately house, Tucker gets out and pays the driver, despite Reeder’s protests. 

“You din’t hafta do that, Malcolm, really…” Ollie trails off, and why is he outside the cab? Shouldn’t he be trying his luck at some seedy motel? “Why… why’m I here?” He mutters, confused.

Malcolm rolls his eyes. “I have a fucking sofa.” He unlocks the door, leaving it open so Ollie follows, taking in the sight of the home of the infamous Director of Communications with wide eyes. 

The first thing he notices are the postcards and paintings lining the walls. “Hey, ‘r these yours, Malc?” Reeder peruses them, curious and tipsy, barely acknowledging Malcolm’s insistence that he “take off your fucking shoes, you fucking inbred ape, I don’t have a maid like you fancy fucking Poxbridge types”.

~~~~~~

Somehow, Ollie ends up in the bed with Malcolm instead of on the couch, tangling his limbs around the other man and snoring into his shoulder. It may have had something to do with the alcohol, the proximity, the fact that the first thing Reeder had asked about had been the art hanging off the walls… 

Tucker half-glares at the younger man before hesitantly wrapping his arms around him.

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. I’m such a shit.


End file.
